


The Broken Road

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [21]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Phrack, Established Relationship, F/M, Phrack Fucking Friday, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 05:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15550905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: After an unexpected meeting, Jack is brooding a little and Phryne feels the need to help.





	The Broken Road

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Rascal Flatts song, _Bless the Broken Road_ , which I unashamedly love. I love the idea that all of the trials and tribulations we may go through in our lives are preparation for whatever amazingly good thing is coming, down the road a ways. For me, knowing that the good will come and I'll be stronger for having been through the fire of the bad is enough to keep me going. ♥

From her position on the sofa, Phryne watched Jack where he stood at the window; she tugged her green-and-gold satin wrap closer around her bare shoulders, enjoying the warmth it brought against the remembered chill of the rainy night they’d just braved to return to their hotel. Jack had removed his tuxedo jacket, and the bright white of his shirt made his shoulders seem even broader than usual. His hands were tucked into his trouser pockets, which stretched the cloth snugly across his arse, a sight that Phryne never grew tired of.

He was brooding a little. It hadn’t really surprised Phryne to discover that he tended to brood—all the signs had been there, even before their relationship had changed from… well, it had never truly been platonic, had it? Before they’d acknowledged their romantic feelings for each other, then. Jack spent a lot of time deep inside his own head, and sometimes he just needed a hand to climb out.

“Rosie looked lovely tonight, didn’t she?” She stroked a hand down her thigh, the velvet of her dress plush against her palm, its deep green striking against the pale skin of her fingers. “That blue matched her eyes beautifully.” 

As Jack turned slightly to look at her, twisting at the waist, she dropped her eyes but didn’t miss the small smile that tilted the corners of his mouth.

Jack’s eyes traced Phryne’s form as she leaned back against the corner of the sofa. Her dress was stunning—the neckline in front skimmed her collarbones, then fell, along with a glittering line of sequins, to expose most of her back. The sequins were repeated at the hem and along the lines of the slits that exposed her legs on both sides to mid-thigh. Though she sat now with her knees covered and her bare shoulders shrouded by the gold-embroidered green satin of her wrap, he could see where the back of the dress’s skirt fell away, exposing the graceful arch of her calves down to the sparkle of her gold leather shoes. She really was remarkably beautiful. His heart squeezed in his chest at the thought that, out of all the men in the world, she’d chosen him.

“She did look well. I’m glad that she’s finding her feet here in Adelaide.” He was impressed at how calm his voice sounded. He hadn’t felt calm when they’d met his former wife at the party they’d just attended.

“Phryne, Inspector Robinson,” their hostess had said with a smile. Gillian Marshall was an old school chum of Phryne’s who’d recently relocated to this part of Australia. “I’d like you to meet my dear friend, Rosalind Robinson—oh, what a lark, you have the same last name!” Jack had frozen, and he’d felt Phryne’s hand squeeze his bicep as Rosie—his, or at least formerly his Rosie—had turned to greet them. She had looked beautiful, and the surprise on her face had changed almost at once into pleasure.

“Jack! And Phryne—how lovely to see you both!” She’d smiled brightly, and the man she’d been speaking with stepped up to join them. “What a coincidence—Gillian, the inspector and I are old friends, and I met Miss Fisher just before I moved away from Melbourne.” 

Jack had felt a momentary pang that she hadn’t introduced him as her ex-husband, though he was certain that she had kept their divorce quiet in her new circle of friends. It was still considered a terrible scandal, and it would affect her socially as much as her father’s arrest would. Which explained why she was using his last name. Jack found that his vocal cords seemed to have frozen, and he saw fear flutter in the back of Rosie’s eyes as his silence went on.

“Rosie, it’s so good to see you—and looking so gorgeous! That color on you is divine.” Phryne, bless her, had stepped in to save the moment. She pulled away from his arm and held both hands out to Rosie, who grasped them gratefully. “I had no idea you were living in Adelaide!”

“Yes, I’ve been here just over a year now, since I returned from Europe.” 

Finally, Jack’s mind seemed to catch up. Rosie had left Melbourne for Europe after her father and Sidney’s sentencing; she’d said that she needed to figure out what she would do next. She had written to Jack once or twice, but their correspondence had tapered off in what felt to Jack like a natural fashion. He hoped it had felt that way to her, too.

“Adelaide agrees with you,” he managed, and leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Rosie’s cheek. Her eyes met his, pleasure and a little sorrow in them. 

“Yes, it does.” Rosie smiled, and turned away from them both to pull the man at her side closer. He was only a little taller than Rosie, though his shoulders and chest were almost twice as broad. “As does love. This is my fiance, Grant Sinclair. Darling, this is Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson—you remember, I’ve told you about him—and the Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher.” Rosie turned back to meet Jack’s eyes. “Grant owns a jewelry store, and he plays with Hamley Bridge.”

Jack had the absurd thought that perhaps Rosie would finally pick a team to barrack for, if her fiance was a footy player.

“Ah, yes! I’ve heard so much about you both,” Sinclair said, holding out his hand to Jack, who took it. The strength of Sinclair’s grip and the squint of his eyes even as he smiled let Jack know that Rosie’s new man knew exactly who Jack was; Jack hoped the strength of his own grip and his own expression warned the other man that Rosie was not without resources of her own.

Now Jack stood at the window of the posh suite Phryne had taken for them in the nicest hotel in town, wondering at himself. He would have expected to feel pain, knowing that Rosie—whom he’d loved with everything in him when they’d married, and whom he’d still loved when they divorced, though without the passion of their earlier years—had begun a new chapter of her life so far removed from him and his. Instead, he was happy for her, and more than a little relieved that she’d found what she needed. 

Rosie wanted a protector. When they’d first married, he had been more than willing to fulfill that role, and they’d been happy. By the time he’d returned from the war, though, it had taken all of his energy to keep himself together; he’d had nothing left over for protecting her from anything but his own fracturing. He’d accepted that, had seen himself as the greatest threat to her happiness, but it hadn’t been enough for her. She’d wanted the man she married back again, and he couldn’t blame her for it.

When Phryne spoke, Jack turned to look at her, and the differences between her and his former wife shone starkly in the evening’s gloom. Not the physical—each of them was beautiful in her own way—but the way they approached life. Phryne didn’t need him to protect her; in fact, she was more likely to try and protect him. She was certain of her own strength, and so she presented herself as his equal, his partner. He could and would worry over her, but he had faith in her abilities, too. In the hard times, he knew that she would lean on him as he’d lean on her, but she would never ask him to bear all of life’s burdens for her. 

It was a welcome change to the man he was now, and although he had in the past wished that the man he had become was someone Rosie could still love, he no longer felt that way. Phryne wanted him just as he was now, with all of the experiences he’d lived along the way. He felt the smile stretch his lips, and allowed all of his feelings for this brilliant, quixotic woman to surface in his eyes.

“I’m glad that she’s found her place,” he murmured, turning fully to face his lover.

Phryne looked closely at him. Ah, there he was. She could see her inspector—her love—surfacing from the mire of his thoughts, and the emotions that shone in his eyes warmed her as surely as any fire. Shifting, she rose to her feet and approached him, letting her wrap slide off of her shoulders.

“So am I, Jack,” she said, and she meant it. “She deserves happiness after all she’s been through, and Grant seems like a good man.”

Jack’s quickly raised eyebrows and tilted head said without words that he hoped that she was right about that. Phryne smiled. Honor ran so very deeply within her Jack—it was what made him such a good police officer—and she knew it had been hard for him to let Rosie go.

When she reached him, she laid her hands on his chest; she traced the lines of his waistcoat and the slightly rumpled ends of his untied bow tie with one hand, while the other fiddled with the pearl-topped button at the unfastened neckline of his shirt. 

“I’m going to go change out of this frock,” she said quietly, as he withdrew his hands from his pockets and set them gently on her waist, his fingertips brushing the bare skin of her back. Her eyes rose to meet his. “Are you ready for bed?”

Jack nodded and dipped his head to brush his lips across hers in the gentlest of caresses. He spoke against her lips, each word vibrating against her tongue as his lips caught and released hers. Phryne’s eyes closed at the sensation. His voice was hypnotic.

“I am absolutely ready for bed,” he pulled her closer, pressing his hips to hers so that she could feel the growing hardness of his body, “and I have been waiting all evening to ravish you, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne smiled, her hand sliding upward to cup the side of his neck. “Well, inspector, give me a few minutes to prepare myself, and then we’ll see who ravishes whom, hm?” She caught his lower lip between her teeth, her eyes meeting his just to see the flare of lust she knew he’d feel. 

One of his hands slid from down to cup her bottom and the other splayed against her back, warm and heavy as he tugged her closer to cover her mouth with his. Phryne leaned into him, her hand on his neck sliding up into his hair, and her tongue coming out to dance with his. He tasted of the whiskey he’d drunk at Gillian’s—her friend had very good taste in alcohol—and of himself, a flavor that Phryne had quite frankly become addicted to the moment he’d kissed her for the first time. It had been a struggle over that first year not to rush him into kissing her again, but she’d known that he needed time—to deal with his divorce and to decide whether she was worth the risks. She had been so pleased when he’d finally made his romantic overture.

Jack slid the hand on her back around to close softly over her breast as he kissed her, the flavors of lipstick wax and whiskey and that indefinable something that he identified as _Phryne_ mingling on his tongue. The thick velvet of her dress couldn’t obscure the hardened nipple it covered, and her satin wrap brushed the back of his hand as her arm lifted so that she could fist her other hand in his hair. 

Jack loved the sensation of her fingers in his hair—she adored sex, and she threw all of herself into every erotic experience. Her enthusiasm fed his, and their lovemaking was explosive because of it. She tugged at his hair, and his hands—one on her ass, the other on her breast—tightened; his cock, now hard and throbbing with the need to feel her skin, pushed into the softness of her belly.

Pulling away slightly, she gasped, “I really do need just a moment, Jack.” 

She rested her forehead against his, her breath coming quickly; Jack forced his eyes open, his tongue licking out to taste her flavor on his lips. 

“Right.” His hips pressed against her again, and a small, needy sound escaped her mouth to gust against his lips. With a herculean effort, he forced his hands to release her and took a step back as her fingers slipped from his hair.

Phryne pressed her lips together and dropped her hands to her skirt, lifting it to bring it clear of her feet. With a glance down his body that encompassed the tenting of his trousers, she grinned, then took a deep breath and ran for the bedroom of their suite. Jack laughed out loud at her speed, and propped his hands on his hips, trying to get himself under control. His darling detective was up to something, and it didn’t really matter what—he was certain that he’d benefit from her scheming. He watched her until she’d shut the door behind her, then shook his head and began to divest himself of his fancy clothing. 

He took his time, knowing that she’d be inserting her family planning device—and didn’t that thought just bring his cock right back to attention?—in addition to removing her regalia. When he’d stripped to only his undershorts, he draped his tuxedo pieces neatly over one arm and hooked his fingers into his shoes. He moved across the parlor to turn off the lights, then stood at the bedroom door. Knocking lightly, he waited for the faint “come in!” before he entered.

The bedroom was dim, only one small lamp on the far side of the bed casting minimal illumination. Phryne’s dress was draped over the arm of the room’s chaise, and she sat in the center of the big bed with its curling iron headboard, lounging back against the pillows. Jack caught his breath. Her bare ankles were crossed, and the curves of her calves and thighs were visible, but she’d wrapped her green-and-gold shrug around her once more, and its fabric obscured her shoulders, chest, and lap. Her lipstick was gone—likely eaten off by his kisses, he thought, and his cock gave a little leap of pleasure—but her eyes still bore the expert shadows of her evening makeup. Jack stepped into the room and laid his bundle of clothing beside her dress, then turned to face her.

“What are you doing, Miss Fisher?” The words came out in a low growl that surprised him, and he watched as her eyes slitted with pleasure at his reaction.

“Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you took every opportunity to touch my wrap this evening, darling,” she purred. 

Her tongue came out to wet her lips as she sat up a little and uncrossed her legs, letting the ends of the wrap fall between even as she bared her thighs up to her hips. When she leaned forward, one hand held the wrap across her bosom, but Jack could see that she wore nothing at all underneath. He tilted his head and moved around to the side of the bed. Where was her other hand?

“That wrap is lovely,” he agreed, “but it wasn’t what I couldn’t help touching this evening.” He stopped beside the bed and set his hands to the waistband of his undershorts. “Take it off.”

“You first,” the command came at a whisper, but it shivered across his skin like a whip. 

Nostrils flaring, he complied, pushing his underwear down and off of his body. As he straightened, his hand came up to wrap around his cock, stroking gently as he watched her eyes flare with arousal.

“Take it off now,” he responded, his tone soft.

“I’m a bit chilled,” she said, “perhaps you could help warm me up?”

“It would be my pleasure,” he replied. Smiling slightly, he climbed up onto the bed and reached for one of the wrap’s ends. Settling on his knees beside her, he peeled the wrap open, first one side, then the other. “Ah, that’s where your other hand got to.” He watched as she slid two fingers deep into her body, her thumb thrumming at her clitoris. “Allow me.” 

Moving closer, he covered her hand with his, sliding one long finger in alongside hers, and lowered his head to her breast. Phryne cried out, and he felt her other hand, still clutching the edge of the satin wrap, come up to grip at his shoulder.

She gripped his finger too, her own sliding out of the way so that he could add a second digit to the first. The tight, wet heat of her passage was riveting, and he curled his fingers gently to pull them along her inner walls as he pumped them in and out. Phryne’s fingers, slick with her own juices, remained on her clitoris, and Jack moved to press against them with the palm of his hand. He wanted to make her come this way—he loved being an instrument of her pleasure, and the best nights were ones where Phryne was limp when they were through.

With a growl, he switched breasts, his free hand coming up to toy with the nipple of the breast he was abandoning. Phryne keened as he suckled, her hips jolting as she tried to fuck herself on his fingers; he obliged her by pulling his palm away from her flicking fingers so that he could flatten his hand and give her another knuckle’s worth of depth. His teeth closed lightly around the end of her nipple, and he fluttered his tongue against its tip while he lightly twisted her other nipple. Phryne arched into him as her climax rushed through her, and he pressed his hand deep between her thighs, adoring the rhythmic pulses of her internal muscles around his fingers and the press of her breast against his face.

“Jack!” Phryne heard his name escape her as if it came from someone else as the pleasure rocked her body. He played her so perfectly, she wasn’t sure that she’d ever be able to let him go—not that he’d shown any signs of wanting that, but she knew that she wasn’t the easiest of women to love. His tongue on her nipples was gentle now, suckling softly as his fingers held tight within her, augmenting her orgasm with pressure against a spot deep within her body.

“Jack,” she said again, on a sigh this time, her hands coming up to his face to pull his mouth up to hers. 

“Are you warmer now?” The question was a wry rumble and she laughed even as she kissed him, loving the feeling of his heated skin against her own.

She could feel the hardness of his cock against her hip and his hand still resting inside her. She wanted those to switch places, wanted to make him come apart with pleasure as he had done for her. It had taken time for him to accept that she enjoyed it when he lost control; she wanted to be his safe harbor, the place where his walls came down and the essence of the man came to the forefront.

“My Jack,” she whispered, and slid the hand holding the edge of her wrap down his chest; he shivered and looked down his body to watch as she deftly slid her hand around his erection, the satin cushioning her palm. The image was beautiful, the flushed, reddened skin of his cock lying on the bed of green and gold as if it was a gift. She glanced at his face; he was enjoying the sensation, she could tell. She rather preferred skin to skin, but this was about him, at least for the moment.

“Careful now,” he murmured, “I’ll ruin it.”

“We can’t have that, inspector,” Phryne said, as her satin-covered hand began to rub against him. “I trust you not to let go.”

Pushing lightly at his shoulder, she laid him back against the coverlet and rose over him, her hand never leaving his cock. Her other hand gathered up a length of the wrap and spread it across his chest; when she laid herself over his chest to kiss him, the satin slid between them, stroking them both. Jack’s hands moved to her shoulders, then up to cup her neck, and as she kissed him, her tongue fucking his mouth in a rhythm not unlike the way she’d ridden his fingers, his fingers clenched in her hair.

The head of Jack’s cock rubbed, warm and damp, against her belly as she writhed upon him, her hand squeezing strongly along his length. Phryne could hear his breathing, rough and deep, as he fought for control, fought to keep from tipping into orgasm—it would forever ruin the satin if he came now, she knew, but she counted their current experience as worth the risk.

Her other hand plucked softly at his nipples through the cloth, rubbing the satin against his skin; she could feel his fingers tighten in her hair, and the sound that came up from his chest and into her mouth was agonized.

Lifting her head slightly, she watched him as her hand worked his cock. A light flush rode his high cheekbones, and—freed of her mouth—his jaw worked even as his hips moved to augment the sensation of satin against hot, soft skin. His eyes were only half open, but they were fixed on her, and she knew that if she were to say the word, he would stop whatever he was doing immediately—he didn’t take pleasure unless she did. She wouldn’t torture him that way, though. At least, not tonight, she wouldn’t.

“Are you ready, Jack?” She breathed the words over his face, and his eyes fluttered shut, then open again. 

He nodded, jerky and quick, and Phryne smiled. Pushing up, she tugged the wrap away; even as she swung one leg over his hips, she tossed it off the bed, where it landed with a soft slither of sound. Settling over him, Phryne slid the wetness between her thighs along the length of his cock, and Jack’s hands slid from her hair down to cover her breasts, her erect nipples jutting between his spread fingers.

“Phryne, please,” he muttered, his hips rising beneath her.

Phryne rested her hands on his chest, mirroring his as she lightly squeezed his nipples between her fingers. Dropping her head, she kissed him again, and his tongue plunged desperately between her lips as she swiveled her hips and took him in.

Jack groaned—he had no idea how she did that, aligned their bodies perfectly without the use of her hands, but at the moment he didn’t care. His cock slid in smoothly, lubricated by the copious wetness of her own arousal until he was fully embedded. They both paused a moment to savor the sensation of joining—it felt miraculous, every time, to be connected this way—before she arched her back to slide him slowly, tortuously out, and then back in again.

“More,” he moaned, “harder.”

“Not yet,” she whispered, her mouth against his. “Just a little…” Slide out. “...longer.” Slide in. She fucked him at a leisurely pace, her hands moving to grasp his and pull them above his head when he tried to grab her hips and speed her up. “I want you,” she said, between kisses, “to feel every…” Slide out. “Single,” slide in, “moment.” 

Her lips trailed down his jaw to his ear, and he felt the touch of her tongue on the sensitive cartilage there. Groaning, he bent his knees, pushing up into her as best he could from his position. His orgasm built, first by increments, then by leaps as she moved above him, her breasts dragging against the skin of his chest, her belly pressing and releasing against his. 

Finally, he couldn’t take any more. With a growl, he lunged up against her, rolling her beneath him. His eyes hot on hers, he released her hands only to grab her wrists and bring them up to the iron bedstead. Phryne grinned and wrapped her fingers around a curve of iron; Jack pushed himself up to his knees, his hands cupping the backs of her thighs.

“Brace yourself.” The words were barely understandable, and Phryne arched her back, wrapping her fingers more securely as she watched him through half-closed eyes. This was what she’d wanted, a Jack that was out of control and wild with the need to come.

“Show me what you’ve got, Robinson,” she said, laughter threading through the words.

Tilting his head, Jack didn’t look away as he lifted her thighs, first one and then the other, up to his chest, draping her knees over his shoulders. Then, leaning forward, he set his hands to the headboard above hers, and began to move.

Phryne began to wail almost immediately as Jack thrust powerfully against her; the angle of her legs meant that his cock pushed hard along the front wall of her passage, its soft head followed by hard muscle pounding against that spot inside her each time he slid inside. Her head pressed hard into the pillows as her body bowed with pleasure, and her arms bent as she pulled against the headboard.

Jack’s head drooped above hers, his face contorted with the effort of control, and she could feel him dragging air into his lungs; her name emerged from his lips as he exhaled, an incantation perhaps intended to draw him ever closer to orgasm. Phryne loosed one hand from the headboard to clasp it around the base of his neck; his eyes met hers, their focus intense.

“Come, Jack,” she said, holding his eyes.

He shook his head, and she felt his knees move to nudge closer under her body. “Not until you do,” he ground out. “Not until you, _Phryne_!” She’d curled her fingers into his neck, her nails pressing in as he hit the spot within her again and again.

The words he muttered now were praise, of her beauty, her wetness, her mind, her spirit. Her mouth open, Phryne flexed her internal muscles, squeezing the beautiful cock that continued to move within her, and his words changed to curses, words that she never heard him say except when he was lost to pleasure. 

Those words were enough to send her over the edge for a second time. This time, her climax was a catapult, flinging her into release with a scream; convulsing around him, her hands flew to hold on to the constant in the room—Jack—and her fingernails dug into his arms. With a shout, Jack lost hold of the last threads of control, his hands gripping the ironwork until the bed creaked, his arching back pushing Phryne up until her head knocked against the headboard.

Jack felt as if his whole body liquefied and was pumped inside her as his orgasm went on and on, and he couldn’t regret losing himself in the wonder of her; he dropped one hand to the top of her head to cushion her as his hips continued to pump helplessly against hers and words of love fell unbidden from his lips.

Eventually, they disentangled themselves and lay side by side, Phryne on her back, one knee raised, and Jack sprawled beside her on his stomach, his face turned toward her. Their fingers tangled together between them as if neither wanted to completely let go and they both labored for breath, sweat cooling on their skin. 

As she recovered, Phryne turned to look at Jack, admiring the smooth lines of his back and the curve of his bottom. She laid her hand on his thigh and stroked upward to splay her fingers across his back, feeling it rise and fall as he fought to catch his breath. In moments like this, she had to wonder at how their relationship had changed; they still enjoyed their late-night talks over whiskey and draughts, but these days, more often than not he’d accompany her up to her boudoir afterward.

“I must say, I rather like this bed,” Phryne said quietly, “if it inspires you to such extremes.”

Jack’s chuckle vibrated against her hand, and Phryne smiled down at him.

“I don’t think it was the bed, love,” he admitted. “I’ll never look at your satin wraps the same way.” He propped himself up on his elbows and leaned in to kiss her softly.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you were doing,” he murmured, brushing his lips against hers.

“Seducing you?” Phryne put a caress into the question.

“Yes that, but with a purpose,” he replied, smiling.

“Well, a good release is its own purpose, darling,” she admitted, leaning forward to press a kiss to his shoulder. “And two is even better.”

“Hm,” he agreed, lifting a hand to tuck her hair behind one ear. “But you were also trying to cheer me up after seeing Rosie tonight.”

She regarded him seriously. “Well, it’s not every night that you run into your ex-wife at a society party and realize that she’s using your last name to save herself scandal.” She shrugged, and Jack couldn’t help notice what the movement did to her naked chest. “Not that I think you would have objected to that, if you’d known.”

“No.” Jack’s voice was warm, and he rubbed his thumb along her cheekbone. “She’s welcome to that name—she wore it legitimately for more than sixteen years, after all.” Rolling, he faced her, one hand moving to prop up his head, and the other stroking down her arm to rest on her hip.

“I’m happy that she’s settled,” he said quietly. “I hate that she had to leave Melbourne under such a cloud.”

“Mm,” Phryne said, lifting a hand to trace his cheek. “And you wish you’d been able to help her.”

“She wasn’t mine to help anymore.” He smiled sadly. “And although I wouldn’t trade you for anything, I am sorry if my being with you now brought her any more pain.”

“I’m sure she’s past that,” Phryne said, shaking her head. “She was positively cordial! Especially since we didn’t correct Gillian as to her name.”

Jack nodded, and his eyes scanned her face. 

“I love you, you know,” he said abruptly, and her eyes flew to his, surprised. “I know that you generally prefer not to hear it, but I have no regrets. At all.”

“Jack…” Phryne’s skin flushed, as it did every time he said those words. She opened her mouth, ready to say the same—she loved him quite ridiculously, and she thought he knew it.

“No, don’t reply. I just… wanted you to know.” He smiled, that great, wide open grin that she saw so rarely. “In case seeing Rosie worried you at all.”

“Pish,” she retorted, leaning forward to kiss him. She slid her body closer, until her chest pressed warmly against his, and she felt his cock twitch where it lay, quiescent, between them. “I trust you, Jack Robinson,” she whispered before kissing him again.

The words were simple, but he felt them as deeply as if she’d expressed her undying love. The trust of such a woman was worth more than gold, and he knew it. Jack wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. This was his happily ever after—the ending that all the fairy stories and penny dreadfuls strived to recreate, and it was here, real, in his arms. He’d arrived at where he was meant to be, and he wouldn’t change anything in his past because all of it made him the man he was. The man she trusted.

When he lifted his head, he considered all of the things he might say to her in this moment. He’d already told her he loved her. He could go with “I trust you too,” or “you’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” or even “stay with me forever.” 

What he said was, “I’m feeling a bit peckish, Miss Fisher. Any objections to a midnight snack?”

Her expression was puzzled until he pressed her back against the bed covers and began to trail kisses down her body.

“Heaven forbid I don’t satisfy your appetite, inspector,” she said, her voice breathless as his mouth left her breasts and headed south.

“It’s important to keep one’s strength up,” he murmured as he nuzzled into the fine dark hair that covered her sex.

“Help yourself, Jack,” she breathed, and when he did, she said nothing more for a good long time.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're wondering, the wrap that Phryne's wearing is the same one as in Death at the Grand, when she's investigating the poker setup. You're welcome, Fire_Sign. :D


End file.
